Song parody of
Upholding
by Andrea Vocab Sanderson
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She arose from the raw earth, the color of dirt leftover
Rotating sphere on her shoulders, she's been carrying this 3rd rock boulder
Reclaiming mass, getting older
Yet remaining unclassified and marginalized
Trying to justify the legitimacy of her craft
Like an epigone uttering under an overpass, in a state of repose
She is spouting golden tinted prose in the shadows abscising truth from lies
She's quoting poets and philosophers of the past
Maturity personified in her overcast skies
Even so, those glittering pools are still luminous bright
She takes big bites of palatable light
Recites and regurgitates
She has quantified wisdom
Beneath the guise of charisma, charm, and colloquialism wrapped in wit
Despite the prize that she is, often times, she's cast aside and disregarded
Simply because most cannot handle it
Their bellies poisoned by propaganda
She holds the anecdote in her sweet sticky stanzas
Each light lickable lyric that leaps from her tongue leaves their egos undone
Leaves their privilege in the spillage of her tongue
They are livid from how she pillages their ignorance with just one proverb
She has come from the asylum of assemblies to massacre them with her innate abilities
Originated from epics of lore, all of her glory can never be truly accounted for
The ancestors just keep rising in her bones
God's fire is what is shut up in her bones
Her mystique is somewhere between renaissance and love jones
She is imitated, under-appreciated, appropriated but never truly owned
They cannot hone
They cannot harness
They can only hope to clone
But her chromosomes are sacred and the sacrifice
That it took to comprise her genetic code cannot be duplicated
She is in and of herself one of kind; and in a class of her own
She stands alone holding up her portion of this raw earth
She is a million times worth more than has been accounted for
And as long as she lives, she will always have more leftover to give
She manifests in abundance
She manifests abundance
She arose from the raw earth, the color of dirt leftover
Rotating sphere on her shoulders, she's been carrying this 3rd rock boulder
Reclaiming mass, getting older
Yet remaining unclassified and marginalized
Trying to justify the legitimacy of her craft
Like an epigone uttering under an overpass, in a state of repose
She is spouting golden tinted prose in the shadows abscising truth from lies
She's quoting poets and philosophers of the past
Maturity personified in her overcast skies
Even so, those glittering pools are still luminous bright
She takes big bites of palatable light
Recites and regurgitates
She has quantified wisdom
Beneath the guise of charisma, charm, and colloquialism wrapped in wit
Despite the prize that she is, often times, she's cast aside and disregarded
Simply because most cannot handle it
Their bellies poisoned by propaganda
She holds the anecdote in her sweet sticky stanzas
Each light lickable lyric that leaps from her tongue leaves their egos undone
Leaves their privilege in the spillage of her tongue
They are livid from how she pillages their ignorance with just one proverb
She has come from the asylum of assemblies to massacre them with her innate abilities
Originated from epics of lore, all of her glory can never be truly accounted for
The ancestors just keep rising in her bones
God's fire is what is shut up in her bones
Her mystique is somewhere between renaissance and love jones
She is imitated, under-appreciated, appropriated but never truly owned
They cannot hone
They cannot harness
They can only hope to clone
But her chromosomes are sacred and the sacrifice
That it took to comprise her genetic code cannot be duplicated
She is in and of herself one of kind; and in a class of her own
She stands alone holding up her portion of this raw earth
She is a million times worth more than has been accounted for
And as long as she lives, she will always have more leftover to give
She manifests in abundance
She manifests abundance
